"Harry!" Willow burst into the Gryffindor common room. "Harry, I need to see …" She looked around, seeing the usual Saturday night mass of students in the room.

          "You need to see who, Willow?" Harry and Ginny walked over, both seeing the flush and hearing the rasping breaths. Willow had been running.

          "Well, I … heard you had made a new friend, and I wanted to meet that new friend, because … he's man's best friend," she said pointedly, her voice low.

          "He's over by the fire. Umm… Spike loaned him to me." Harry called to the huge black dog sitting with Lee Jordan and the Weasleys. Sirius saw the wave and trotted to them.

          "Thanks. I wanted to meet … him." Willow cringed at her awkwardness. She was so bad at pretending. At least no one was watching carefully. She leaned down as if to pet the dog and whispered, "Spike's in trouble. It's with Buffy."

          The dog seemed to nod and Willow led him out.

          Sirius burst through the door, still in dog form, and launched himself at Buffy. The stake jutted painfully from Spike's shoulder.

          "BLOODY HELL, WOMAN!" The vampire reached up and yanked out the wood. Willow came through the door at full speed.

          "Buffy, wait … Spike!"

          Buffy kicked Sirius off of her and came to her feet in a defensive stance. Sirius morphed back into wizard form and drew his wand.

          "'Ey, Red," Spike said weakly.

          "Buffy, Sirius, stop! Buffy, that's Harry's godfather!"

          The Slayer backed off a little, eyeing Sirius carefully.

          "What are you, a were-dog?"

          "Animagus," he replied, shaking his head.

          "Like the cartoon?"

          "No, Buffy," Willow said. "He's a wizard who can turn into a dog."

          "So you're, like, your own best friend?"

          Exasperated, Sirius ignored the comment. The fate of the world routinely rested on this girl?

          "You know about what happened to us in L.A.?"

          "Us? What the hell were you doing there?"

          Willow's appearance and the enforced pause had cleared some of the red haze from Buffy's vision, but the sting of Spike's thoughtless admissions remained fresh.

Spike tossed the stake at Buffy's feet. "D'you think the wounded could get a bit of attention before we get much deeper into the exposition?"

"Blood?" Willow asked. Neither Sirius nor Buffy seemed inclined to help him.

          Spike pointed to the fridge, and Willow dug him out a bag.

          "Yum. Cold," he muttered as he drained it.

          "You okay?"

          "Yeah, Red. Dandy. Ready to dance the foxtrot." He inched over to the wall and slumped against it.

          "I take it you heard from Angel," Sirius said, bypassing Buffy's question. He still thought Spike was more annoying than the fleas he occasionally picked up, but the vampire had known the cost of the Eye when he had paid it. Ultimately, that would help Harry, and Spike didn't deserve to be stabbed for doing the right thing for Sirius' family.

          "Yeah, I fucking heard from Angel. And Angel heard from Spike. I'm sure he was just dying to share all the details, to rub it in Angel's face what he couldn't …" Buffy's carefully built façade began to crack, but she rebuilt it swiftly with anger. Plenty of time for a good cry later.

          "It wasn't like that," Sirius said. On the floor, Spike gaped; Puddles hated him. What was he doing? "I was there. What did Angel say about what actually went on?"

          "He told me enough," she snarled. "That Spike gloated about … us," she said, spitting out the word. How could she have been so stupid to fall for an evil bastard like that?

          "Did he tell you that Spike had no choice? That the owner of the Eye demanded that Spike tell him, so that we could get it back?"

          "Again with the Eye. Who's blind and why do you care?"

          Sirius explained about the Eye and the spell.

          "Why did he want Spike to do that?"

          "Don't know."

          "He had a seer," Spike said from the floor. "She was tellin' me things … private things. I think she saw something, and the Don - 'e's the bloke who had the Eye - and the Don did it 'cos it gave him some kind of advantage." The pain had lessened and Spike heaved himself unsteadily to his feet.

          "He didn't brag about it, Buffy," Sirius assured her, sensing the perfume of hurt floating around the blonde. "He didn't want to say anything, but he had no choice. Then Angel attacked him. I swear it, and believe me, I can not stand Spike. Frankly, I'd rather you had reason to stake him."

          "Thanks, Puddles," Spike said under his breath.

          "It's true," Willow said, having heard it from Harry. "They don't like each other."

          Buffy stood motionless for almost a minute, then nodded. The adrenaline rush drained away instantly, leaving her stomach in the cold, empty aftermath of her misdirected anger.

          "Come on, Sirius. We have to go do ... that thing … that isn't here." Willow, reading the moment perfectly, grabbed his arm and led him out. Spike nodded his thanks to the wizard as they departed.

          Then he and Buffy were alone.

          She looked at him, and the tears sprang up behind her eyes.

          "I'll kill him, luv," Spike said softly, taking her shoulders in his hands. "Whatever he said to you … I'll kill him for it."

          At his obvious concern, Buffy loosed the tears and fell into his arms. For endless minutes, she sobbed on his uninjured shoulder.

          "I ruined your silk shirt," she whispered when she calmed down. Her tears soaked his entire arm.

          "S'okay. Stole it from Peaches."

          "Spike … this … I can't …"

          "Buffy." His steely glare settled on her beautiful eyes. "I wouldn't have done that for sport."

          "I know, Spike. I know. I got so mad … he …"

          "What'd he say, pet?"

          "About what you would expect. How could I? You're a monster, dangerous and evil, out of my mind, blah blah blah. I'd rather not do a word for word, y'know?"

          "What'd you say?"

          "Asked him how he dared pass judgment on me like that with all of the things that I've … you know what, let's not." She spun out of his arms and faced away from him.

          Not knowing what to do, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

          "What's goin' on with you, Buffy? Why are you really here?"

          "I'm really confused, Spike. I had to know."

          "'Bout what, exactly?"

          "You," she answered quietly. After seeing him at Christmas, her feelings had come rushing forward. In rare moments of honesty, she had admitted to herself that she might have fallen in love with the blonde vampire, except that he would always be a soulless killer. She knew full well he would not have bragged to Angel that way, but the other vampire had made it sound so … and he did it on purpose, she realized. He was jealous.

          "Probly should talk to Red about that, Slayer, not me."

          The pain coalesced between them.

          "I just wish …"

          "That I had a soul?"

          She stared at him for a long minute.

          "That I could know you weren't still a mass-murderer underneath your chip." Which meant yes.

          "What would happen if you could?"

          "Don't go there, Spike."

          "I think we bloody well should, Buffy. Because I'm not. Whether you think so, whether my damn demon thinks so, it doesn't matter. I know what I am." He grabbed her forcefully and twisted her to face him. "I'm in love with you, and if that means no more killing for Spike, you know damn well I won't kill."

          "It can't be about you loving me, Spike. That's … it's not enough." She pushed him away. "It just isn't. It has to be about not killing."

          "If it was, you'd let yourself love me." It wasn't a question, but there was fear in his voice. As if he might actually be right, and was finally seeing it made fact.

          "Yes."

          She raced out of the room. Spike collapsed onto his bed, overwhelmed by his grief.